The Monolith Memorial
by Drow Elf
Summary: Just a little tale of Drizzt's thoughts as he climbs Mithral Hall. Takes place after the Hunter's Blades Trilogy. R


**Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fanfic, so don't sue me. You'd be sorely disappointed if you did.**

The Monolith Memorial

Silken strands of stark white hair framed a face stunningly dark in contrast. The features were clearly of elfin descent; angular bone structure constructed a small, but easily grinning mouth. The tips of his long, delicately pointed ears peeked through his hair, and thin, slanted eyebrows rested above piercing lavender eyes that were sharper than the two scimitars hanging from his belt.

Drizzt Do'Urden climbed up the rocky slope with grace rivaled only by the enormous black panther that leapt fluidly from perch to perch. Guenhwyvar saw that the dark elf was falling behind, and stopped for a quick wash as she waited for her master to catch up.

The drow was on the rocky ledge before Guenhwyvar could get properly get ready, but she endured the indignity and nuzzled him under the chin lovingly. Drizzt laughed and stroked her fur. "It would be a lot easier if I could still levitate," he said. The enchantment upon his family pendant had long since faded in the bright sunlight years ago, but it was a price the rogue drow prince was willing to pay eagerly. He leaned over the ledge to check his progress, but pulled back as vertigo gripped him. A chill breeze buffeted his hair gently. "You ready to continue?" he asked. Guenhwyvar did not deign to answer; so, the drow gripped the next handhold the mountain offered and continued his ascent to the mountain's summit.

It was not yet dawn, but a dull yellow glow began to tinge the sky in the east. Drizzt, for reasons he could not explain, had awoken early and left Catti-brie's bed with the intention of climbing to the top of Mithral Hall. Guenhwyvar was summoned to keep him company.

Even though the sun had not yet stirred from its nightly slumber, and darkness still held its sway across the land, Drizzt's infrared vision enabled him to pick out hand and footholds easily in the inky blackness.

As he climbed, Drizzt's thoughts turned to the disturbing notion that the Kingdom of Dark Arrows was building its dark fortresses across the countryside. Drizzt grimaced; orcs were not supposed to be that smart. Either another orc had stepped up into the position of Obould, or (Drizzt shivered at the thought) the orc king still lived. It seemed impossible to him; he had seen the monster fall into the crevice, but the coherency of the orc horde should have long since dissipated. His hand grasped a loose rock that came away from the mountain. He slipped, holding on with one hand precariously, and then found another handhold. He continued his upward journey.

The few misty clouds partially obscured the horizon, turned a deep purple in honor of the sun's arrival in a few minutes. Drizzt hauled himself onto the small plateau on the mountain's summit. He lay on his back, winded. Guenhwyvar lay beside him, a low growl emitting contentedly from deep within her throat.

As he watched the dim stars slowly fade and vanish in the growing light, Drizzt brought up memories of Zaknafein. Zaknafein: weapons master of House Do'Urden, rivaled by none in swordsmanship in all of Mezoberranzan, rivaled by no drow in goodness of heart in all of Toril. He had taught Drizzt how to become a master of the blade, how to use improvisation instead of a set pattern of strikes while wielding his whirling scimitars. Drizzt's mother, Matron Malice of House Do'Urden, had sacrificed Zaknafein to the Spider Queen, Lolth, in Drizzt's place in order to replace her once-mate with a younger, more easily influenced version.

Drizzt had not felt obligated to oblige her.

The rogue drow felt a tear stream down his cheek at the thought of his lost father, holding the image of their last battle over a pool of acid in his mind. Guenhwyvar noticed the tear and tactfully licked it off.

Drizzt paid her no heed and stood up abruptly. The sun broke the bonds of darkness as it gloriously arose over the eastern horizon. As was his custom, Drizzt stood to greet it, a silent sentinel against the oppression of the dark, even though he himself was a natural denizen of the lightless world. He watched the molten drop clear into the sky, enduring the blurring of his vision as they sparked in pain, a respectful salute to the giver of light.

He wondered if Zaknafein had ever witnessed such a sight. He doubted it. Another tear not brought on by the pain crawled out of his purple orb.

Acting on impulse, he began to strip, adhering not to the frigid mountain winter winds. He unclasped his tattered green ranger's cloak and let it fall to the ground. He reverently placed his symbol of his goddess aside. His tunic followed, along with his boots, until he stood barefoot in the snow in only his leggings and belt.

He slowly drew his scimitars and began going through the motions Zaknafein had taught him. Faster and faster whooshed his scimitars, cutting the air audibly. Guenhwyvar backed away and sat a respectful distance across the plateau, watching the dark elf curiously.

It went on for several minutes. Drizzt never tired, never even perspired. All the while, the blades whirled faster and faster. They were barely visible now. Drizzt's face was locked into a grimace, coaxing his muscles to move faster, to somehow out race the memories the movements were bringing on. He began to gasp with exertion.

Guenhwyvar suddenly decided that that was quite enough of that behavior and roared a stern warning. Drizzt stopped. Icingdeath and Twinkle clattered into the snow. He shivered and flashed a half smile to the cat. "Thank you, Guenhwyvar, my friend," he whispered. Guenhwyvar padded over and companionably bumped against his leg.

Drizzt smiled into the sun. In a way, he was responsible for taking back Mithral Hall for the dwarves, not that he would dare to take all the credit for himself, but he was not so modest as to not to admit that it probably would not have been done without him.

All bravery Drizzt had shown on that epic quest was due to the efforts of the deceased Zaknafein.

"For you, Father," said Drizzt, looking down the mountain as the massive double gates opened to allow sleepy dwarves to go about their business. All of Mithral Hall was basically a monolithic monument to the spirit of Zaknafein.

"For you."


End file.
